


Memory

by mfingenius



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Nicaise (Captive Prince) Lives, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22035928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mfingenius/pseuds/mfingenius
Summary: “Even if I'm not able to, Laurent will attend.”Damen gives a thoughtful hum. “Where is he? I haven’t seen him since he was... fourteen?”Auguste laughs. The year they signed the peace treaty, after a long, hard year of negotiations – the council had taken care of everything, since Auguste had been bedridden and recovering for eight months after the battle of Marlas – the Akielons had held the first of their yearly dinners at the Ios palace. Laurent, fourteen and with little to no respect for prince Damianos – not after he’d stabbed Auguste through the side – had begged Auguste to let him stay behind, but Auguste had said no.He’d stabbed Damen with a fork during that dinner.Auguste has never pressured Laurent into anything again.My entry for the Captive Prince Reverse Bang, featuring healing Laurent, a very alive Nicaise, and Auguste as an exasperated older brother.
Comments: 30
Kudos: 248
Collections: Captive Prince Reverse Bang 2019





	Memory

**Author's Note:**

> [This](https://chryseos.tumblr.com/post/189958438136/art-for-mfingeniuss-captive-prince-rbb-fic) is the gorgeous art that inspired this fic, made by the lovely Chryseos :D  
> Everyone go like/reblog it <3
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely idevon <3

_ One move. _

_ One more move, and that’s it. _

_ Damen’s muscles are burning with exertion, the pain only just beginning to sink in; he’s sure he’s bleeding somewhere – everyone is – but he’s managed to lodge his sword into Auguste’s side, not deep enough to kill him, but deep enough to make him fall to his knees. _

_ There’s only one move left, and he should take it.  _

_ He’s going to. _

_ “ _ _ No _ _!” The word is screamed in  _ _ Veretian _ _ , and the voice is much too high to be a  _ _ soldier’s _ _. It’s the voice of a child, and it distracts Damen enough to halt in bringing down his sword. _

_ Auguste gasps, and, a moment later, a lithe, fair figure is rushing past Damen and throwing itself at Vere’s Crown Prince. Light blonde hair and dark blue clothes are all Damen can see when Auguste wraps his arms around the child. _

_ The child is saying something, too low for Damen to hear, and, instead of responding, Auguste’s eyes find Damen’s.  _

_ “Don’t hurt him,” he says, and he looks deadlier than he has all night. _

_ “He’s a child,” Damen says. He doesn’t quite realize what is happening; he doesn’t think the boy is supposed to be here, but he wouldn’t murder a child, not for anything. He won’t raise his sword against him, not even after he catches sight of the sword the boy is loosely holding. A dead soldier’s, surely. _

_ “Laurent,” Auguste says, voice gentle. “You aren’t supposed to be here. You need to get back.” _

_ “Not without you,” The boy, Laurent, says, finally pulling away from Auguste; Damen doesn’t know too much about the  _ _ Veretian _ _ royal family – he'd learned a lot about Aleron, when he thought he’d be fighting him, and then about Auguste, but that was it. Still, if his memory serves him right, Auguste has a younger brother. _

_ “Laurent-” Auguste begins, but Laurent turns to Damen. _

_ “Haven’t you done enough?” He snaps, still in Veretian, and the harsh tone of voice makes Damen’s hold tighten on his sword, more on reflex than any real thought. Still, Auguste drags the boy closer, behind him, and, if there’s anything Damen can appreciate in people – even if it is the Veretian crown prince – it is the willingness to protect others. “Is it not enough to invade Delfeur?” _

_ Damen won’t get into an argument with a child, much less a  _ _ Veretian _ _ child. The pain is getting worse as the rush of the battle wears off, and he thinks that if he spends much more time just standing, whatever it was that was carrying him through battle after battle might be lost. _

_ “You should listen to your brother,” He says, instead. “This is no place for a child.” _

_ “This is no place for anyone,” Laurent says harshly, and, beneath all the anger, Damen can see fear, real fear, vicious, and headstrong, and uncontrollable. It shouldn’t be as foreign as it is, not in battle, but it still makes Damen pause; he’s seen fear, of course. He’s been commanding armies since he was seventeen, he’s seen soldiers in battle, the fear in their eyes, but it’s different. All of the soldiers Damen has commanded, there wasn’t just fear there; there was a common goal, a belief that their fight is worth it. _

_ A child doesn’t care who’s right; Laurent is frightened, and Damen can see that he doesn’t care how  _ _ this ends _ _ , as long as it does. _

_ The fighting has been pausing around them, everyone uncertain of why their princes have stopped, hesitant on what to do when spotting a child in the middle of the fight.  _

_ “Laurent,” Auguste says, and his voice holds little of the gentleness it had before. Damen can see how profusely he’s bleeding from the wound on his side; it’s a miracle he’s still holding himself up, not lying dead on the ground. “You need to leave.” _

_ “Auguste, I-”  _

_ “I’m not asking,” Auguste says, and Laurent’s face goes wounded before it goes regal. _

_ “I’m not, either.” He says. “Father is dead.” _

_ Auguste’s grip slackens against his sword. _

_ “ _ _ How _ _?” He demands. _

_ “An arrow.” Laurent says. “From our side.” _

_ It’s battle; it wouldn’t be entirely uncommon for an arrow to get lost and end up striking one of their own’s, but the way Laurent says it holds weight that Damen doesn’t understand. He understands Auguste’s returning look even less. _

_ Auguste exhales, and his face goes white as he stands. Damen’s grip tightens on his sword. Auguste smiles humorlessly. _

_ “ _ _ Damianos _ _ ,” He says. “My father is dead. What do you say we talk of peace?” _

* * *

“This is – accustomed?” Damen asks, voice pitched high. 

Auguste laughs lowly, eyeing Lady Vannes’s pet appreciatively. She’s a pretty thing, with wide eyes and long, dark hair, kneeling at Lady Vannes’s feet. 

“Yes,” he says. He turns eyes to Damen; it's the welcome feast for the  Akielons – it's been five years since the peace treaty was signed – and it’s traditionally Veretian. The pets are walking around barely clothed, shamelessly flirting and teasing the nobility – less so than usual, since they’d all been instructed not to offend Akielon sensibilities. “They’re pets.”

“Pets,” Damen echoes. “Right. And you didn’t think to mention  _ this _ in your letters?”

Auguste laughs, louder this time. Alexandre, his own pet, is kneeling at his feet with his head resting on Auguste’s knee. Auguste runs a hand through his hair soothingly; he reserves his love for women, but as Veretian nobility, he’d been expected to take a pet at sixteen, so he had.

“You didn’t ask,” he says teasingly. He tightens his hold around the back of Alexandre’s neck, and the pet stands gracefully and retires. It’s the sign Auguste usually uses to dismiss him. He can see the feast will be going on for much longer, and he has no use for him tonight, so he’s hoping Alexandre will get some sleep. “Has much been going on in Akielos?”

“No,” Damen shakes his head. “We’re preparing for the Summer games. I hope you’ll be able to attend.”

Auguste hums; the event is only three months away, and the  Veretian royal family has been invited to attend. Auguste doesn’t know if he’ll have the time – Vere has been slightly restless lately, and he doesn’t know if it’ll be wise to leave the country now. 

“I’ll try to,” He says. “Even if I'm not able to, Laurent will attend.”

Damen gives a thoughtful hum. “Where is he? I haven’t seen him since he was... fourteen?”

Auguste laughs. The year they signed the peace treaty, after a long, hard year of negotiations – the council had taken care of everything, since Auguste had been bedridden and recovering for eight months after the battle of  Marlas – the  Akielons had held the first of their yearly dinners at the  Ios palace. Laurent, fourteen and with little to no respect for prince Damianos – not after he’d stabbed Auguste through the side – had begged Auguste to let him stay behind, but Auguste had said no.

He’d stabbed Damen with a fork during that dinner.

Auguste has never pressured Laurent into anything again, even if he himself has forgiven Damen.

“He should be here soon,” Auguste says. Laurent had promised he’d show up – after Auguste had made him swear not to do anything that might cause them to start another war. “He’s promised not to stab you again.”

Damen chuckles. “Honestly, I was impressed. He managed to both draw blood and surprise me. Not a lot of people have managed that.”

Auguste snorts. 

“Yes, well, he’s special that way,” he says drily. He loves his brother – more than anyone else in the world – but he doesn’t always know what to do with him, even if he's been in charge of Laurent’s upbringing since his brother was born.

There’s a distinct lull in conversation, one Auguste has come to relate to one thing specifically, and he turns his head to see his brother walking into the room. He wonders where Nicaise is – him and Laurent are always together, and it’s not a good sign that he’s missing – but he doesn’t have too much time to think about it before Laurent is at his side.

“You’re late,” he reprimands lightly, as soon as Laurent walks up to them. He’s not blind to everyone’s eyes glued to Laurent –  since two years ago, when Laurent was sixteen, eyes seem to be permanently glued to him. The same is beginning to happen with Nicaise, now that he’s sixteen, and Auguste thought he’d be more ready for it now that it already happened with Laurent; he wasn’t. He can’t help the protectiveness he feels over them, he practically raised them. They're his responsibility. 

“I didn’t want to come,” Laurent says blandly, before letting his eyes drift to Damen. He bows, much more shallow than considered polite towards a King. “Damianos.”

Auguste should chastise him for neglecting to use Damen’s official title. He’s going to, but he sees Damen’s face, and his mouth drops open slightly. Damen is swallowing tightly, eyes dark and on Laurent, seemingly enthralled.

“Prince Laurent,” Damen says, after a moment. His lips lift at the corner, and he finally looks away. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.”

“I don’t doubt.” Laurent remarks, bored.

“I still have the marks on my thigh from your fork.” Damen says. Laurent has the decency to look ashamed, cheeks flushing lightly. “Thought you might like to know.”

“Yes, well.” Laurent says, shifting. “I’ve been instructed to apologize for that.”

It was Auguste who’d instructed him to do so. Of  course, he’d meant for Laurent to pretend it was  _ his _ idea.

“Alright,” Damen says, agreeably enough.

Laurent frowns lightly, looks at Damen.

“That was it.” He says.

Auguste sighs, exasperated, but Damen grins again.

“Alright,” he repeats. “I accept your apology.”

Laurent bites back a scowl, but just barely.

“Come on,” Auguste says; he’s sure that if the conversation keeps going, Laurent will say whatever venom dipped remark is on the tip of his tongue, and he’d rather avoid another war. “Let’s have dinner.”

As King, he’s seated at the head of the table, Laurent at the seat on his right and  Damianos on his left. 

“So,” Nicaise says, bored, from where he’s sitting next to Laurent. He’d walked in in the middle of dinner, underdressed and with his hair mussed, as though he hadn’t planned on coming and is only now making up his mind. “What is it with the giant animal?”

Nikandros ,  Kyros of Delpha and Damen’s best friend, sitting next to Damen, chokes on the wine he’s drinking.

“Nicaise,” Auguste says. He’d explicitly sat both Nicaise and Laurent down and told them that if they couldn’t be civil, they shouldn’t be at dinner. They’d both immediately chosen to not go, but Auguste had made them promise to go and  _ be civil _ .

“I don’t believe you’ve met,” Laurent says, a small smile playing on his lips. “Nicaise, this is  Damianos and  Kyros Nikandros .  Damianos , Kyros, this is Nicaise.”

Auguste honestly has no idea where the hell Nicaise came from; Auguste had left one evening for business in Patras and when he’d returned, he’d found six year old Nicaise and eight year old Laurent both lying in Laurent’s bed, Laurent teaching Nicaise how to read.

When Auguste had asked, Nicaise had upturned his nose at Auguste and simply informed him that he lived there now. Laurent, eyes huge, had nodded along, and because Auguste had never met anyone who managed to be with Laurent for more than two minutes without exhausting him, he’d allowed it.

It’s been ten years, and he’s thoroughly regretting his decision, even if Nicaise is still Laurent’s only friend and Auguste considers him family.

“ _ King _ Damianos,” Auguste says pointedly. He considers Nicaise a brother, loves him with his entire soul, too, but sometimes, he honestly cannot stand having two teenagers under his care. “Nicaise.”

“ _ King _ Damianos ,” Nicaise says, rolling his eyes. “I’m glad to finally meet you. Tell me, was it to your liking when you ran Auguste through with your sword?”

Damen grimaces, and Laurent’s face darkens. Auguste purses his lips.

His recovery had been slow and painful. Nicaise had been furious, only eleven and grieving in the only way he knew how to. Aleron had never been kind nor close to him, so his death didn’t matter much, but the fact that Auguste – virtually the only adult he’d had in his life – had been unable to move for months had been hard on both him and Laurent.

“I-” Damen begins. “I’m sorry-”

“It is the anniversary of the signing of the peace treaty.” Auguste says. “We have no reason to bring that up. I have forgiven Damen, and we are friends, as are our countries.”

Nicaise and Laurent both look unhappy.

“I’m sure you’ll agree.” Auguste says. “By the end of the  Akielon’s stay.”

“ _ Stay _ ?” Laurent asks, looking up from his plate for the first time since dinner began. “For how long?”

“Three weeks.” Auguste says. “Didn’t I mention? I must’ve forgotten.”

Laurent turns reproachful eyes on him, and Auguste gives a grimace and what he hopes is a soothing smile. Nicaise’s glare tells him neither of them believe his excuse.

Auguste very willfully  ignores their glares.

*

“Three weeks,” Auguste grimaces the moment he steps into his rooms. Nicaise’s ice blue eyes are narrowed in a tight glare. He’s taken to wearing black around the rim of his eyes, and it makes the glare look more pronounced. “ _ Three weeks _ .”

“Nicaise-” he begins.

“You invited the brutes to stay for  _ three weeks _ ?” Nicaise asks.

Laurent is silent, looking out the window while curled into a ball on the windowsill.

“They’re not brutes.” Auguste says. “And you both promised to be civil. Which you  _ didn’t  _ do.”

Nicaise makes a non-comital sound and drops down on Auguste’s bed. Auguste sighs.

“Laurent,” he tries. “Come on.”

Laurent continues to stare out the window stubbornly. 

Auguste had already expected Laurent and Nicaise brooding here, since their guards – eight, four for each of them – had been waiting outside, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch. He doesn’t like to see his brothers unhappy, likes it even less to be the cause of it.

Auguste sighs again, and Nicaise gives him a ‘ _ you did this’ _ look. He rolls his eyes and stands from the bed, walking over to the windowsill to perch himself next to Laurent. He knocks his elbow into Laurent’s ribs, which causes Laurent to hiss and elbow him in return.

“Get off me,” he mutters, but Nicaise only digs his elbow in harder before easing off, resting his elbow on Laurent’s shoulder. Even at two years younger, he’s slightly taller than Laurent is, and never lets him forget it. 

“Stop pouting, then,” Nicaise says.

Laurent rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to reply – most likely to bite back an insult – Auguste does  _ not _ understand the way they show their affection towards each other – and Auguste cuts him off before he can.

“Look,” He says patiently. “It’s not like the  Akielons will be staying with you in your rooms.” Neither Nicaise nor Laurent feel any better at that, so Auguste continues hesitantly. “It’s been a long time. I have forgiven Damen. Can you not do the same?”

“He  _ ran you through _ .” Laurent snaps harshly, finally looking at Auguste. “I watched you  _ bleed _ .”

Auguste grimaces, and Nicaise’s knuckles turn white around the edge of the windowsill.

“I’m here,” Auguste says, uselessly. “I’m alright.”

Nicaise tightens his lips until they turn white, and he exhales harshly through his nose.

“Can you at least be polite?” Auguste pleads. “Avoid causing another war?”

Neither of them  make any promises.

*

“The  Kyros might not be too bad,” Nicaise considers out loud. They’re watching the  Akielons train – all of them soldiers – and Auguste is giving  Kyros Nikandros and King  Damianos a tour of the palace. “He’s quiet, at least.”

“Because he doesn’t want to be here.” Laurent says, peeling seeds and then throwing them in his mouth. “And he doesn’t trust us.”

Laurent has seen the  Kyros staring at him with open distrust, which is somehow both amusing and disquieting. No one in Vere allows their emotions to lie right there on the surface, but most  Akielons seem to do it. Laurent has seen it in Damianos, too, regret clear on his face when they mentioned what he did to Auguste, lust clear as day when he placed his eyes on Laurent the day before.

But  Damianos’s openness is much harder to think about than  Kyros Nikandros’s . With the  Kyros , he doesn’t feel the anger and sadness coiling tightly in his chest whenever he looks at him. With  Damianos – no matter what Auguste might say – Laurent can’t think of anything but the image of him, running a sword through Auguste’s ribs.

It’s nauseating.

“Does anyone?” Nicaise points out. 

Laurent snorts and rolls his eyes. Though everyone knows and loves Auguste, nearly all of the courtiers and guards who have met him and Nicaise know to keep their distance.  Damianos wasn’t the first person to get stabbed by a fork – Laurent actually learnt it from Nicaise, after he stabbed a courtier in the thigh for touching his cheek – and he wasn’t the last one either.

Since Laurent was fifteen – and then Nicaise, two years later – and Auguste gifted them each a silver knife with a starburst on the hilt, they’d moved on from forks to knives. By then, most of everyone had known to keep their distance though, so Laurent’s never had to use it.

“We should go,” Laurent says, finally, when he sees  Damianos staring at them. He doesn’t know what bothers him the most; how easily he thinks he can read him – sorrow and regret – or how unsure he is of it. He doesn’t see  _ why _ Damianos would allow his emotions to be seen, doesn’t know what sort of advantage it gives him, and it’s driving him insane trying to figure it out.

“Alright, fine.” Nicaise agrees, non-comital, standing up and stretching. “But we’re running out of places to hide.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Laurent says.

*

They do run out of places to hide. Auguste, knowing the palace even better than Laurent does, shows Damianos every fucking corner. The only refuge that is left is Laurent’s rooms, no one allowed in them without his permission, not even the guards. Still, used to being free to roam around as he likes – he hasn’t even been able to ride, lately, because Damianos seems to magically appear wherever Laurent is – he's being driven insane.

So he does what he does best; he ignores every rule and sign telling him not to do something, and does it anyway.

It’s after midnight and the gardens are dark when he climbs out the window. There are guards patrolling outside, but Laurent knows their rounds, so he avoids them easily. He’s done it dozens of times before, will probably do it dozens of time later.

When Auguste was bedridden, Laurent had been too much of a mess to do anything. He’d spent weeks straight staring out the window of Auguste’s room, no eating, no bathing, barely moving. Nicaise had been just as bad, the both of them curled up together in a chair, entirely disfunctional.

On week three, Jord – Auguste's newest but also most trusted guard – had actually lifted both Nicaise and Laurent – one in each arm – and had carried them to the baths. Laurent had yelled at Jord that he couldn’t disrespect his prince like that, but Jord had calmly informed him that his loyalty was to the King’s Guard, which meant Auguste, and that he would want them healthy.

He hadn’t left them alone until they’d eaten and had slept a little bit.

To this day, Laurent is still immensely grateful to Jord.

He pulls the hood of the cloak he’s wearing over his hair, to ensure that he won’t be recognized, and he’s almost through the door when he hears something.

“Where are you going?” Laurent freezes, turns around.  Damianos is leaning against the wall in a white  _ Chiton _ \- and  Akielons say  Veretians are shameless – and he’s staring at Laurent calculatingly.

Laurent straightens and clenches his jaw.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you, Damianos.” He says, voice shaking, from hatred, or fear, or both. “And it is highly inappropriate of a guest staying at the palace to be sneaking around at night without their host.”

“But it isn’t inappropriate of the Prince?” Damianos remarks lightly.

Laurent narrows his eyes. “Are you following me?”

“No,”  Damianos says. “I was trying to clear my head. I didn’t expect to run into you.”

Laurent doesn’t respond. He pushes past  Damianos , knocking his shoulder into his – and  _ fuck _ , Laurent might’ve just dislocated his shoulder doing that – but before he can get out, Damianos speaks.

“Does Auguste know you’re sneaking out?”

Laurent grits his teeth and takes a step backwards, craning his neck up to look at Damianos’s face.

“Are you  _ threatening _ to tell my brother, King  Damianos ?” It’s the first time Laurent has used the title, and it’s spit out with as much venom as he can muster. 

“I’m only curious,”  Damianos says off-handedly, pushing off the wall. “I’m not sure it’s safe for a prince to go out in the middle of the night, without guards. If something happens to you and no one knows where you are-”

“I assure you I can take care of myself, Damianos.” Laurent says. “And it is hardly your business where I go.”

“I can come with you.”  Damianos offers. “Just to make sure you’re safe-”

Laurent snorts. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

Damianos looks guilty, for a moment, but Laurent doesn’t regret his words.

He’s not angriest at  Damianos because he stabbed Auguste – the moment had been terrifying, of course, but that’s not what had made Laurent’s hatred for him grow – no, he’s angry because of everything that happened afterwards.

Laurent had always thought of his brother as harmless, kind, light-hearted, and he’d thought of Vere as a safe place. In the weeks when Auguste was bedridden, it had quickly become evident that Laurent’s entire childhood had been nothing short of a lie.

Without Auguste’s constant protection – which Laurent didn’t even know he had – and the death of the king and queen, the courtiers had come down on Laurent and Nicaise like hyenas. Laurent had only been thirteen, cornered and terrified the first time a drunk courtier had made a suggestive comment about taking him to bed.

The palace had soon come to resemble a cage more than Laurent’s childhood home.

And inside, he knows that that’s not  Damianos’s fault. Laurent’s illusion would’ve faltered at some point, but it would’ve been much easier having his older brother at his side when it happened.

“I am sorry.”  Damianos’s voice pulls Laurent out of his thoughts. “For what happened. For what I did.”

_ It was a war,  _ Laurent thinks. Auguste would’ve done the same thing, he knows. He doesn’t want to think about it.

“I don’t want your apologies.” He says icily. 

“I know,”  Damianos says. “But I want you to know-”

“I don’t  _ want _ to know  _ anything, _ ” Laurent says, stepping closer, hands tightening to fists. “I don’t  _ care _ ,  Damianos , do you understand that? I don’t  _ care _ if you regret it, I don’t care if Auguste has forgiven you, I don’t  _ care _ how much you regret it or if you wouldn’t do it again. You did it, and  that’s all that matters.”

Damianos is quiet. Laurent pulls away, forcing his breathing to calm, his fists to loosen. He turns and walks away.

*

Laurent spends hours sitting in the small canteen alone. It’s a sleazy, ratty place, but it is far enough from the palace that there shouldn’t be any off-duty guards there to recognize him. As a plus, it has enough dark corners for Laurent to sit on without being watched.

The sun is rising by the time he gets up from the booth he was sitting in and stumbles outside. It’s depressing that the canteen feels like a haven more than the palace does, infuriating that he feels the need to escape his childhood home. And that, he knows, isn’t entirely  Damianos’s fault. This isn’t the first time Laurent’s done this.

“Don’t move,” And there’s a hand on his arm, dragging him down an alley. Laurent tenses, stumbles. He’s too aware of the blade Auguste gifted him, strapped to his forearm, under the hood he’s wearing. He can reach it if he can move his arm- “I told you not to move.”

The man shoves him forward, and Laurent stumbles again.

“I-” Laurent begins but the man shoves him again, tightening his hand on Laurent’s arm, crushing his wrist with the other one. 

“Shut up,” the man shoves him again, but this time, he lets him go, making him fall to the ground. Laurent stumbles onto his knees, hands bleeding from where he catches himself against the stones on the ground. 

Laurent cries out when he finds himself yanked up by the hair. His hand instinctively goes to his sleeve.

*

Damianos doesn’t see him, at first. He sees the dead body, the blood, he doesn’t see the blond curled up into a ball, shaking. Not until he hears the muttering.

“It’s fine,” He’s repeating frantically. “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s okay, it’s okay-”

“Laurent,”  Damianos says, and it speaks to how in shock Laurent is that he doesn’t even respond, just says ‘it’s fine’ louder. He crouches in front of him as he would a scared child. “Laurent. It's alright. I’m here.”

And Laurent would never feel any safer with Damen than he would alone, but he can’t  _ think _ right then, because he just killed someone. He killed someone.

A person that was trying to harm him, first, sure, but he’s never – he's never killed someone before, and it’s not – it's not  _ fair _ , he can’t think now, he needs to think, run,  _ flee _ .

Then Damen’s hand is on his wrist, and he drops the knife he’s holding onto like a lifeline. Damen’s not his friend, he’s not even an ally, but he’s someone Laurent knows, and he needs someone he knows.

“Come on,” Damen helps him up, and he has the good sense to pick up Auguste’s knife from the floor. Laurent doesn’t want to leave it there, but he also doesn’t think he can move to pick it up. “Laurent, it’s alright. Come on.”

But his feet refuse to move, because he’s  _ killed  _ someone. It's not like Laurent’s foreign to the idea of death; he watched his mother die, first, and then his father. He watched his Uncle’s execution, he spent months thinking Auguste was going to follow the rest of their family. He knows war, he knows people die.

He’s just never been the one to cause that death.

Damianos doesn’t rush him. He stands there, giving soft reassurances until Laurent’s ready to move on his own, first a step, then another. Eventually, he helps him onto his horse, then to the palace.

The sun is high in the sky by the time they arrive, and they’re greeted by three dozen guards looking for them.

“Where were you?” Auguste is immediately on him, checking him over, looking for any sign of injury. “Are you alright? Fuck, Laurent, that’s so much blood, are you-”

“Fucking insane?” Nicaise finishes for him. “Where the  _ fuck _ were you? Did he touch you?”

And he’s glaring at Damen accusingly, and Laurent doesn’t even consider saying yes, even if it would mean  Damianos being sentenced to death, as Laurent has wanted for a long time. Or thought he wanted. He’s not sure after tonight.

“No.” He says. He doesn’t want to tell Auguste he killed a man. He doesn’t want to have killed a man, but he has, and now he has to tell his brother. “He - a man – I-”

“A man tried to harm Laurent.”  Damianos says, when Laurent doesn’t continue. “He’s dead.”

Here it comes; his brother will hate him. He’s taught Laurent better than this, he should’ve been more careful, should’ve been able to get away without-

“Good,” Both Nicaise and Auguste say.

Laurent looks at them, surprised.

“You stink,” Nicaise informs him, grabbing him by the elbow. “We’ll get you into a bath.”

*

Laurent feels much more like himself after the bath and a nap. 

Nicaise had sat by the edge of the bath and spoken uselessly the entire time. Laurent doesn’t remember half of what he’d said, but he’d appreciated hearing his voice. Afterwards, he’d been so exhausted that he’d fallen asleep as soon as he’d laid in bed, and when he’d woken up, he’d been starving. Auguste had brought him food up, himself, and had eaten with him and Nicaise, trying to ask if Laurent was alright without prying.

Laurent doesn’t think he’s entirely alright, but he doesn’t feel as he did before. 

So he goes to  Damianos’s rooms. He knocks, which is dumb, because there are guards there that can announce his presence, and this is really his palace, so he doesn’t really  _ need _ to tell  Damianos that he’s here, he could just walk in.

Still, he knocks, and considers fleeing when the door doesn’t immediately open. Before he can, though, it does.

“Laurent!”  Damianos seems as surprised to see him here as Laurent is to be here. “I - how are you? I haven’t asked because I thought you’d be-”

“Thank you,” Laurent interrupts, because he really can’t hear  Damianos’s rambling and find it cute instead of annoying. “For bringing me back to the palace. I wouldn’t have gotten here on my own.”

“I - I’m sorry I followed you.”  Damianos tells him. “I didn’t have to - I thought something might happen, and I know you said it wouldn’t, but-”

“But it did,” Laurent says. 

Damianos looks down at his feet, and Laurent studies him. He doesn’t know, if it means anything that  Damianos is sorry for what he did to Auguste. He doesn’t know if what he did for Laurent fixes that, now, and he doesn’t think it does, but it does force him to admit that he can’t keep pretending everything Damen does is bad.

“I - came to thank you,” Laurent says, because it’s true, and it is the one thing that makes sense in this entire situation. Not Damen’s confusing honesty, not his kindess, not Laurent’s inability to recognize any of those qualities before, even if they must have been there, long before tonight, long before this. “And I’ve done that.”

Damen doesn’t reply, and Laurent turns, uncertain, willing himself to leave.

“Laurent,” Damen says, and it’s gentle. “I - if it is not terribly inappropriate of me, would you like to share a meal?”

Laurent’s stomach flutters.

“I-” He hesitates. Steels himself, turns around, looks at Damen; he doesn’t look much different than he did the day before, or the year before, or the day he ran Auguste through with his sword. He isn’t a terribly different person, which leaves, as the only explanation, that Laurent’s the one who has undergone dramatic change. “I would enjoy that.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, find me on Tumblr @mfingenius


End file.
